Haven't done anything new for a while, so I'm trying an experiment: to concoct a new erotic short story based on one particular person's deepest, darkest kinks.

I'd like to do a few of these, but for now I just need one muse. The only stipulation is that this would be a woman I don't already know. The process of getting to know you will inform the end product. I might ask to share the final piece with the thread but only if it's OK with you.

Rounding the corner of the cereal aisle, Abby stopped short. Her mind, filled as it almost always was with the must-do minutiae of the day, suddently went blank. She stared for several seconds at the familiar shape in the middle distance, a tall man in a long dark coat standing curiously in front of a pile of lemons.

The rush of unnamable familiarity washed over her. He was someone she had known, surely- or perhaps he was just someone who looked a bit like someone else. It wasn't a question of "who is he?" but more a matter of "is he…?"

Instantly, she slunk backward out of the intersection avoid being being seen. From a distance it looked just like him, the square shoulders, the carriage of his body. As she peered a little more intently, though, she managed to convince herself that it couldn't possibly be her former lover Brock, a rather forced conclusion that brought her a kind of limited relief. His hair was shorter and a litle darker than she remembered. More than that, he didn't seem to have that intense piercing stare. He was just some Joe Schmoe at the grocery store like everybody else. Brock, she reassured herself, wasn't a Saturday afternoon grocery shopping guy. He had always seemed more the Tuesday at 4am type; just the essentials, no small talk- milk, eggs, lube. Besides, he was a thousand miles away now- or so she had heard.

She could have solved the mystery right then and there by simply approaching him and saying "hello," but the painfully shy Abby couldn't dare do such a thing. Instead, she watched him select a lemon and shuffle away into the florescant din.

That night she found it impossible to sleep, rewinding the non-event in her mind over and over as she lay in bed. It wasn't him, of course. That would be ridiculous. And even if it was, why would he ever want to talk to her again after the way things had ended between them?

Years had passed, but the painful morass of their relationship remained as real for her as anything in her life. They were, from the very beginning, doomed to fail as a couple-- as different as two people could be. For a breif while, though, they had something incredible. Abby, an introvert since childhood, adored the socially gregarious Brock, and being with him gave her a kind of permission to explore long-neglected feelings and urges.

As a lover, he was the most intense she had ever known. It was not enough for him to simply make love to her. He took singular pleasure in coaxing her out of her shell, baby step by baby step. He taught her to enjoy her femininity and to relish the power she derived from the pleasure she gave him. Soon, however, he wanted more. For Brock, true love was a kind of possession.

To have her emotionally and sexually, he had to possess her completely. In the end, their tempestuous union boiled down to a simple choice between him or her own emotional independence. At that point in her life, there really wasn't a choice. She had just gotten out of school and was just getting established on her own. She couldn't even consider giving up an independence that she had yet to earn.

On her back in bed, her fingers unconsciously travelled down her sides and peeled down her plain white cotton panties. As her mind filled with memories of Brock's touch, his eyes, his voice, her fingers began to slowly rub along the stiffening nub of her cliterus. Her legs spread wider as her hand dug deep into her body, desperately trying to simulate the feeling of Brock's cock inside her.

The next day, the ringing of her phone broke the silence.

"Hello?" she asked. At first she heard only air on the other end of the call. She repeated herself.

"Abbigail," said a low, calm voice. "Hello."

He didn't identify himself. He didn't have to. In a way she was glad for this because just hearing his name again would probably have been too much of a shock.

"Hello," she replied. She was mirroring him again. The same old games. Simon says.

"I am calling to let you know that I'm back in town for a few weeks," he said. "I've actually been here a few days. I would have called sooner but- I think you know why I didn't. When I saw you last night, I thought it best to do the decent thing and call you."

His voice. Her body involuntarily reacted to the sounds vibrating through her spine. "I appreciate that," she said, summoning an air of independence, "but it's hardly necessary."

"I think it is," he said. "I hate the way things ended between us."

Assuming that he was referring to how she had dumped him, she began to apologize but he stopped her. It was he who needed to apologize, not her. All this time he had blamed himself for the horrible choice that he forced her to make. He wanted to see her again just to say those words in person.

She began to make excuses and vague references to a busy schedule but he would have none of it. "I need to see you, Kitten."

At the sound of that word, the precise inflection of his voice when he said it, her body tingled with sexual urgency. She could feel the wetness gathering between her legs. The power this man still had over her was palpable.

The note on her fridge was a spine tingling novel in mineature: "Brock- the pump room restaurant - tonight at 8p."

She steeled herself against what would surely be the greatest test of personal strength in her adult life. She couldn't fall under his spell again. She couldn't let his charisma- his always perceptable sexual energy lead her down that path again. He may have been able to mold her and shape her years ago, but he was no match for her now.

In her closet she searched for a long while for the right outfit that fit the occasion. Unable to find a sequinned gown with the words "I'm over you" emblazoned in giant letters across the front, she chose an elegant red dress with a skirt just below the knee. At five feet and ten inches tall, Abby wasn't about to risk falling on her face in heels. She slipped on a pair of black flats.

She stopped- the ensemble wasn't complete yet. From the lowest, least-opened drawer in her dresser she pulled out a pair of nylons. She made up a new rule for herself. It was OK to feel a little sexy underneath as long as she wasn't doing it for him.

As she pulled them on over her legs, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her legs were long, shapely. She liked the way they looked. She used to love the way he reacted when she wore short skirts.

OK, maybe she was doing it for him- but only to sexually frustrate him, to tease him a little with a whiff of what he can no longer have.

At the restaurant he was waiting for her, which was surprising. He had always seemed to take some pleasure in making her wait.

"How have you been?" he asked as he pulled out her chair for her. His eyes in the candlelight were as bright and fiery as ever.

"Good," she replied. "I'm good."

"You were in Europe for a while?" she asked by way of smalltalk.

"Yes, some business. Dull stuff, really. I'm in the States for a month working on a new project."

She began to talk about her job, perhaps as a way to prove to him and to herself that she had succeeded in some way since leaving him. He listened intently for a few minutes then suddenly stopped her.

"I want you to do something," he said without pretense of changing the subject. "I want you to put your hand on my knee."

"Brock, that isn't going to work on me anymore. I'm different. I've-"

"I wasn't asking," he said flatly. "I simply made the statement that I want you to. What you choose to do is entirely up to you, is it not?"

"I suppose so."

"There you go. Do not think that I have not noticed every detail of your gorgeous visage tonight. Your hands are particularly lovely. You got a manicure recently, I see."

"No, I just keep them neatly filed," she said cautiously holding her crisp red nail up for him to see. Unpainted but perfectly shaped, each nail had a crisp white tip.

"I like them a great deal," he said. "It pleases me to see you so put together, so feminine."

"I must admit that I get a kick out of it, too." In truth, she was more interested in his reaction. She wanted more.

Under the table, she briefly rested her hand on his upper thigh. "There," she said defiantly. But rather than pull her hand away she found herself strangely held transfixed by the warmth of his body. She glanced over at his warm smile. In it there were a thousand pages of untold stories, a thousand urges waiting to be expressed. With her thumb, she could feel the bulge of his pants growing slowly.

"How does that make you feel?" he asked. "To know that it's right here for you- all for the taking."

She did not want to answer, and yet she would not pull her hand away. If she concentrated very hard she could feel his heartbeating through the fabric of his pants.

"Unzip me," he demanded.

Her eyes flashed with terror and revulsion. No. Not here. Not now. Not me. She could feel his cock rubbing against her thumb now, and instintually she reached out for it and grasped the outline of his shaft. He closed his eyes for a moment With some difficulty she reached for the zipperhead and slowly, soundlessly, opened his fly. A wave of heat escaped and the smell of his sex wafted into her nose. Without hesitation, she reached in and grabbed hold of his cock, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Kitten," he said slowly. "You are an incredible woman."

Soon the waiter arrived with menus, and she struggled to find a way to bring her hands up from Brock's crotch in a less than obvious way. Instead, she kept it there, squeezing the head as the young man rattled off the list of specials.

As soon as the intruder exited the scene, Brock turned to Abby. "I know it's an awful cliche to rush out in a situation like this, but in this case I think it's appropriate."

She agreed.

"Could you do the honors?" he asked, nodding downward.

She sealed his monster back in its cage and, after pretending to get an emergency text, they sped off in his car in the direction of his downtown hotel. As they drove, her heart raced. She couldn't take her eyes off of his crotch. "For such a shy girl, you really are a naughty one," he said amusedly. "You want it in your mouth don't you?"

She knew from past experience that he was waiting for a response. He did not believe in rhetorical questions. "… Yes," she said at length. "I do."

"Where else do you want it?"

"… Inside me."

"Where?"

"I want it in my pussy, sir."

His smile grew broader and brighter at the sound of her old name for him. "I'm very happy to hear that."

Once through the lobby and alone in the elevator, the shy girl turned to Brock and kissed him deeply. Her hands spread out on his expansive chest. His arms wrapped around her. He pushed the number for the top foor, some fifty stories above them.

"I'm ready," she said. "I'm ready to give myself to you in a way I couldn't before."

"Somehow I knew you would be," he said.

Perhaps as a test or perhaps as an acknowledgement of her decision, he placed his hand on the back of her neck and pushed downward. She kissed her way down his chest to his stomach. She looked up at him with a measure of fear in her eyes. He nodded with a kind of empathy but pressed even harder on her shoulders. Terrified but eager to feel him in her mouth again, she opened his fly and pulled out his thick, meaty penis. The smell of it was intoxicating. She opened wide and could feel saliva forming in the edges of her mouth.

"Show me how a bad girl sucks a cock, kitten."

She was on her knees now, kneeling before his cock like an ardent worshiper of cum. She licked him from the base to the tip, massaging his balls all the while. With a hand on the back of her head pulling her down onto his cock, she relaxed her throat and took him in. His cock pulsed and throbbed in her mouth. It thrilled her to know that she had made him this way. She knew she could make him cum. She ached for the validation of her sir's semen inside her. It would be a serious challenge to bring him to ejaculation in just a minute or so, but the challenge of it spurred her on. Soon every part of her joined in the cause of making Brock cum by the top floor- both hands pumping him as her mouth and tongue worked his cock like a professional. She could taste the thick dab of precum in her mouth. He was close and she knew it.

Suddenly, she felt the elevator slowing. Glancing over she saw that they were only half way up. Quickly she stood up and shoved him back into his pants just as a quartet of elderly women arrived and filed in to join them.

Abby asked them what floor they wanted. The tallest of the group turned and said that they were headed to a senior's mixer on the 40th floor ballroom. They were going to get lucky, the lady said, and if she didn't watch it they were going to steal that hunk of man meat next to her.

"Not on your life, lady," said Abby jokingly. "This man is all mine- or rather, I'm all his."

As soon as the ladies filed out, she kissed him again, the fain taste of his precum on her tongue. She reached down and pulled him out- even though she only had a few floors left she wasn't about to give up. Her mouth clamped onto his cock tightly. His hands gripped her head on either side, pulling her up and down and then all the way down. Her lips pressed against his groin as the head of his cock pushed all the way back into her throat. Her gag reflex was about to kick in but she continued to fight it as best she could. She could sense it start down in his balls, a low rumbling vibration. Then suddenly she felt his cock explode and recoil, hot cum roaring out of hiim and into her throat. She smiled warmly as she continued to stroke him, milking him of every last drop. He smiled down at her and stroked her hair lovingly.

He helped her up off her knees, and as she turned to leave she saw that the elevator doors had been open for quite some time while she knelt there sucking him off. Anyone could have seen them. She was morified on some level but far too aroused to care at this point. She rooted around for his card key.

"We're not going tto the room," he said sternly, nodding toward the "authorized personnel only" stairs. Up two flights of industrial steps and past a locked door, they found themselves on the roof of the old hotel in the heart of the downtown area. The whole of the city lie at their feet, white dots of light spreading out across the horizon in a limitless sea of activty. Though it was windy at this altitude, the air was warm and surprisingly comfortable.

Brock walked reached behind the access door to fetch the bag he had evidently stashed there hours earlier. From it, he produced a pair of soft nylon ropes. He then walked Abby over to the stone ledge and tied each wrist to the u-shaped iron moorings that held billboards in place decades earlier. Her long body was now bent over the ledge. Her face looked out over the city with her red dress flapping up behind her to expose her panties. She took in her surroundings. There was enough light up there to see, but that also meant that they could be seen from the windows of the other taller buildings nearby. She was completely exposed, her ass hanging out for anyone to see.

He pressed up behind her. She could feel his cock, already rock hard again, rubbing against her ass cheeks in the night air.

"You told me that you want me in your pussy," he said at last. "Is that true?"

"Yes, sir."

"Say the words, kitten. You don't get your reward unless I hear the words."

"I want you to fuck my little pussy, sir."

"Very good," he said.

His pants fell down at his ankles and he easily stepped out of them. She could feel his cock head tracing the curves of her body. Her pussy was shaking with desire. He reached down between her legs and slowly peeled down her panties. She juggled her legs a bit so he could take them all the way off. He held them up to his mouth and smelled them. He put them in his mouth and tasted them.

"You are delicious," he said. "Do you want a taste?"

"Mmm hmmm," she said eagerly and took her own panties into her mouth. As she wrung the juices from the fabrick with her lips and tongue, she could feel his hands on her bare pussy.

With the head of his penis presssing against her clitorous he leaned over her and demanded, "Say the words."

"Mmm please," she said, through the panties in her mouth. "Please fuck me."

His hands tightened down on her hips and his cock rammed into her soft, wet pussy. He pounded her like a beast, each thrust pushing her out over the ledge a little more. The danger of it drove her mad with desire. Her pussy twithed and spasmed as she approached orgasm. Just when it seemed she was about to cum, he leaned forward, grabbed her long hair and pulled.

"You want to cum, don't you, kitten?"

"Yes, sir. More than anything."

"Not yet."

He untied her temporarily and moved her around to face him. He reached around her and unzipped her dress and let it fall to the ground. She was now naked, exposed. He kissed her, his hands on her face. he leaned her back against the ledge and tied her hands to the moorings again. He put his hand on her pussy and inserted a pair of fingers. Her hips involuntarily writhed. He lowered himself down and kissed her stomach. Her tied hands could not reach him, though she wanted very badly to be able to touch him. His mouth wrapped around her clit with his fingers still inside her. He drew her cliterous into his mouth and sucked hard. Involuntarily she began chanting "ohmygod ohmyhod…"

"You may cum now," he said. "Cum for me."

On those words, as if on command, her pussy convulsed in powerful orgasm. He stood up and kissed her hard, mingling their juices, and rammed himself back inside her still-cumming pussy.

"Are you my slut, kitten?"

"Yes."

"Say the words."

"I am your slut."

Her orgasm seemed like it would not stop. She was flying over the city with his cock buried in side her. In the midst of his danger, she was safe. In his bondage, she was free.

I am an erotica writer myself. I am somewhat of a newbie. I read the story u wrote and I am impressed. I have a fantasy for u to write into a story. I am married but dream of being with a woman. As I am bicurious. I love love to be seduced by her. Culminating in being lightly tied up and blindfolded. I want to be teased with a feather. Being brought to the edge repeatedly. But not being allowed to cum yet. I want warm Choc to be painted on my body with a brush in a very erotic way. I then wantto have it licked off my body. After this and only after this will I be allowed to cum.

I do. I had a couple of projects floating around but I can't seem to contact anybody at the moment. I'm interested in getting to know someone via PMs and working up a general story with them. I recognize that most fantasies I've run into so far are daddy/dom based, and that's fine but I'm trying to find something different or at least twists expectations a bit.

OK, I have permission to share this but she doesn't want me to use her Lit name.

John's voice on the phone was cool and distant. "I'm sorry to hear that," he intoned. This was his go-to response whenever Carol brought him bad news. No matter the severity or circumstance, his response was nearly always the same- she had lost a diamond earring; the soufflé had fallen; their son had been kicked out of another private school. He was sorry to hear it.

It was as if he had spent years training himself to say it without thinking, a kind of muscle memory that allowed him to elicit the minimal amount of required sympathy but still leave his mind free to think about something else at the same time.

But that was John, always there but never there.

While his reply was not surprising to Carol in any way, she had hoped that this situation warranted a bit of genuine concern or even, though she knew it was too much to ask, some genuine concern for the woman who was, after all, his wife of more than three decades.

The long grey Mercedes lay at the side of the nameless highway, smoke billowing from under her hood. The weak light of the winter sun was fading fast, and before too long she would be very cold and very lost.

The obvious concern she had for her safety didn't seem to concern him at the moment. This was the evening of the big year-end gala for John's firm, after all, and she was already an hour late meeting him there. His tone implied that he was waiting for an apology from her.

"On any other night, I would gladly slide by to pick you up," he began cautiously. "But I couldn't possibly leave until after Roger's speech. You know that."

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"People are taking their seats, Carol," he said. His voice sounded as though had covered his mouth with his hand so no one could lip-read his desperation. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

"John, do you even-"

"Carol, I have to go. Call our service. They'll have somebody out there in twenty minutes."

She tried to interrupt, to tell him that she already had called the service and the wait time was more like three hours or more due to a convention or some such bother downtown. She got half a sentence out before she realized that he had already hung up. She paged through her contacts looking for someone else she might be able to rely upon to rescue her tonight, but the battery indicator fluttered a few times
like a ham actor at the end of a Shakespeare play and, like her car, suddenly died.

At this moment, as if some karmic comedian in the heavens decided this would be a good time to start snowing, she felt a flake or two fall on her eyelashes. Reaching up to her hair, a few more melted on her hand. She wondered for a moment what the white flakes looked like atop her auburn hair with that recently acquired shock of grey. John liked to refer to it as her "racing stripe." Though he hadn't really intended to make her self-conscious about it, talking about her like a car did make her feel strangely about getting older. Was she a classic whose value only increased with each passing year or was she a rapidly depreciating model soon to be replaced with a newer, shinier one?

She shook her head to rid her mind of the idea. She buttoned her long black woolen coat, tightened her lips in concentration, and took stock of her predicament. With a flick of her key-fob she locked her wounded beast and turned to the nearest source of light.

From this distance (a mile? three miles?) it was impossible to tell whether she had pinned her hopes for salvation on a humble rest stop, a gas station, or some roadside murder factory where cult members grind up passers by and sell them at a nearby diner. She paused for a moment to listen intently but could hear no screams of abject horror coming from the glow ahead. This she interpreted as a sign of good fortune.

The snow was coming down harder now, and she could feel the flakes embedding into the flesh on the back of her slender neck and melting there. She wasn't really dressed for the occasion. And yet there she was, trudging along the shoulder of a busy highway at night in a pair of heels that were never intended to walk in for more than a few yards.

They had been John's favorite during the early years when he pretended to notice this sort of thing. They were made of a flesh tone patent leather with a curved heel and pointy toe that had been popular years ago but had only recently become fashionable again.

She wondered, as she tried not to sprain her ankles on the uneven ground, whether she wore them to remind him of how he used to feel about her or to remind herself of how she used to feel.

None of it mattered now, of course, but dwelling on this seemed like a good idea when her only other option was to think about the cold, the embarrassment, and the painful death that awaited her if one of those hulking trucks passed just a few inches closer.

After what seemed like an hour or more, she found herself in the center of the dome of light on the highway. She looked up at the giant illuminated sign. TranspoUSA Truck Plaza.

In the haze of snow the outline of the facility looked more like a row of shacks, a series of small buildings stuck together like a mobile home with dozens of additions and extensions. Clearly, she thought to herself, fate had delivered her to the murder factory.

But she couldn't stand out there in the cold indefinitely, and there didn't seem like another workable option for her. At the very least, she'd have to wait there for the car service to find her in a few hours or, more likely, in the morning.

As she pushed through the smeary glass doors, the rush of warm air made her woozy for a moment. Thanks to a thick layer of condensation on her glasses, she could barely see.

To the handful of men standing around the counter chatting, she must have looked like a character from a bad fish-out-of-water movie as she carefully peeled off her coat and folded it over her arm. Underneath, she had on the sleek black evening gown she had selected for the gala. So much for fitting in.

Unsure what to do next, she sought out the ladies room. She reached to the nearest wall to switch on the lights and, to add one more layer of horror to her evening, she found that they did not work. From the smell wafting up from the stalls, it seemed like janitorial neglect might be at play here- probably due to the ratio of women to men at an establishment such as this, she assumed.

She spun around and, when she was reasonably sure the other truck stop denizens were no longer watching her, she quickly snuck through the door to the men's room and sought out a stall. Certainly, this was not much cleaner, but at least it had light.

Hanging her coat on the peg, she spread toilet paper over the toilet lid and carefully took a seat.

After sitting there for some time listening to the chatter outside, it occurred to her that she didn't even need to use the bathroom after all. She just wanted a place to hide, to regroup. Through the crack in the stall door she could see a hint of herself int he long dingy mirror. Her hair was a mess. The long curvy curls she had spent so long creating had fallen flat against her face. She decided not to strain to see any more. Too depressing.

It had been years, maybe decades, since she had surreptitiously used a men's room. There was a certain thrill to it. For what she could tell, she was alone, but she imagined men sitting in the adjacent stalls or at the urinals with their penises in their rough hands. She smiled slightly thinking about what they might say if they found her here, the strangely dressed lady hiding where she shouldn't be. She thought about what they might do, and the notion sent a pleasant shock through her body.

This is when she noticed it, a three inch wide hole in the side of her stall. The rough metal edges of it were covered in silver tape. She had heard about these things but never believed it could be real. It had to be a joke.

The door opened. She lifted her feet slightly so her womanly feet would not give her away.

She listened intently as the stranger opened the door to the stall next to her. She could see just a hint of his body as he unzipped his stained jeans, pulled out his cock and began pissing in the toilet. The sound of it filled the room. She wondered if he could see enough of her to realize she didn't belong.

She heard the mystery man flush. Good, she thought. She closed her eyes and counted the seconds until he left her alone.

But after some time she realized that she hadn't heard the sounds she expected- the zipping up, the stall door, his exit. She carefully opened her eyes. Through the hole in the stall she noticed something coming through the hole, a man's penis.

Mortified, she tried to think of an escape plan. If she was quiet, she might be able to leave, she thought. Once outside, though, what would she do about the phalanx of truckers waiting for her there? And even if she got away from them, what then?

It was thicker than John's, veiny and uncircumcised. She tried not to think about the slab of man flesh that hung before her, but she couldn't deny the odd attraction she felt. It seemed strong, powerful.

Against all intuition, she reached out one manicured finger and touched the tip. The skin reacted to her touch. With a bit more confidence she grasped the shaft and rubbed the head with her thumb. Through the hole in the stall she could see the balls tighten. She liked the direct reaction. She gently stroked the shaft and watched it grow in her hand. With the soft grunting on the other side cheering her on, she became more brazen and rougher with the stranger's cock in her hands. He seemed to like that very much. She noticed his hands gripping tightly to the top of the stall.

Her mind raced. The danger of the situation soon became crowded out by a rush of emotions. Looking at the head of his cock pulsating in her hand, she became overwhelmed with the need to make him cum. She opened her mouth wide and let her hot breath fall on the shaft. She heard a moan of appreciation in response. The idea of kissing the head intrigued her. She leaned forward and puckered her lips but the urge to have him in her mouth took over. She parted her lips and took him in as best she could. She could only manage a few inches at first but after a while her jaw relaxed and her throat opened up. This is when the stranger in the other stall stopped trying to be quiet.

"Fuck!" he grunted.

In that moment she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror- just the edge of her shoulder as she pumped him with her mouth. There she was, the wife of the top lawyer in the city, in a men's room stall in her evening gown with a trucker's cock in her mouth. The thought of it caused her whole body to tingle. She could feel the warmth of her pussy wafting up from between her legs.

Both hands on his cock now, she pulled herself down onto his shaft completely. From the rhythm of his movements and the sound of his voice, she could tell he was close. She freed one hand and reached down under her skirt. Through her pantyhose and panties, she could feel how wet it was. She ripped a small hole in her nylons and peeled her panties to the side. Her clit was warm and erect. She rubbed her button urgently as she sucked.

Suddenly, the cock disappeared. The stall door swung open, and the man stood there for a moment, his throbbing cock in his hand. He stared at her masturbating and grinned. She opened her mouth and closed her eyes.

"Cum on my face," she said, her fingers buried in her pussy. "Treat me like a whore."

His fingers tangled in her hair, he pulled her down onto him and she nearly gagged. She would not stop.Her hands grabbed his balls and squeezed.

With a long exhale, the stranger exploded all over her face. She could feel the hot cum dripping down her cheeks and nose. She continued rubbing her clit, looking up at him with intense lust. She stood up and lifted her skirt.

"Come on," she said impatiently. "Give it to me!"

The restroom door opened slowly. In walked a giant of a man, greasy brown hair and a full, bushy beard.
His arms were round and muscular. To her, he looked like a bear. The lump of flesh in his jeans was unmistakable. Staring intensely at her, the bear stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

She arched an cum-drenched eyebrow and emerged from the stall. Her first suitor stood back to let his friend through, still rubbing his cock excitedly.

"Who's got a cock hard enough to fuck me?" she asked. The words seemed to be forming themselves. Part of her was horrified at what she was saying and doing, but she couldn't stop now. She was a woman possessed.

The bear backed her up against a closed stall door and jammed a pair of fingers in her wet pussy. Her eyes closed involuntarily.

The bear smiled and pumped his fingers in and out of her while her hips quivered. "What brings a nice lady like you all the way out here?"

"Cock," she said playfully. "Can I have yours?" She placed her hand outside his jeans and squeezed the bulge hard.

He unzipped and let his semi-erect penis flop out of his jeans. She grabbed the shaft greedily and stroked.
It gets even bigger, she thought, and its going to be inside me. He led her over to the grimy sink and propped her up on the cold porcelain, her skirt up around her waist. She spread her legs wide, her shoes dangling in the air. He penetrated her without pretense or warning. His hands wrapped around her back and pulled her closer. He grunted like an animal as he fucked her. She reached around him and grabbed two handfuls of his ass and squeezed.

Over his shoulder she could see the first stranger watching them. Watching him masturbate drove her wild. The bear soon shot a hot, forceful load inside her pussy and soon she could feel the waves of orgasm beginning to build.

"Don't stop," she urged. She pulled him closer as her body convulsed. "Don't stop."

She walked over to the first stranger as the bear wiped his cock clean. He rubbed her clit slowly as the orgasm sustained a bit longer. "Need more," she groaned.

The door opened again. There were five of them in total now, each of them with a murderous look in their eye and a hard cock in their hands. She wanted them all, and by God tonight she was going to have them.

Soon she was on all fours on the floor. She could feel her palms sticking to the floor. A little disgusted, she was grateful at least that the melange of dried piss and cum will give her more grip.

One of the new men pulled up behind her and jammed his cock into her from behind. Meanwhile, a pair of fresh cocks dangled in front of her wanton mouth. She reached out for them with her cum-covered mouth. These two were quick, and soon she had them right on the cusp. With her mouth wide, she put both in her mouth at the same time and urged them to cum for her. Warm load filled her mouth and dripped down her chin. She swallowed what she could.

Meanwhile, her first two lovers were jacking off over her body and sprayed semen down her back as the cock in her pussy kept on going. His hands dug into her hips as she pushed harder against him. He pulled out suddenly and began rubbing his balls against the skirt of her dress. Soon, he shot his load so hard that it landed on the back of her neck. The semen, her reward, dripped back down to mix with the rest.

Her dress was clearly ruined by this point. The imported fabric was now stained beyond repair, and several seams had pulled out and torn in all the activity.

"Get me out of this," she moaned.

Bear produced a long hunting knife and grinned. "Glad to oblige, ma'am." Playfully he cut a long slit up her skirt to fully expose her pussy. The ripping sound was intoxicating. The bear prepared to cut away the bodice of the dress and rested the knife against her belly for a moment so she could feel the cold metal against her skin. The danger of it made her pussy ache. Soon she was free of the cum-strewn frock and stood in the midst of them wearing nothing but a pair of shoes.

"I'm not done with you," she said to the man who had been fucking her from behind. He laid down on the floor, and she slowly slid herself down onto him.

Her eyes closed in ecstasy and reached out for a pair of cocks to stroke.

All of it became too much at some point. Overwhelmed with lust, Carol came again, so hard that she seemed to black out for a while.

Some time later, she woke up on the floor, naked and sticky with cum.

She found a pair of dirty jeans left there for her, along with a stained white T-shirt and a scattering of five and ten dollar bills. They had paid for it, and somehow that made it even more satisfying.

****

Weeks later, Carol was in a haze, unable to forget about that night or forgive herself for the terrible betrayal it represented. She wanted to relive it all in her mind and fantasize about the hidden power she possessed, but the guild would not allow her.

Being the sort of couple they are, Carol and John lived in the sort of conspicuously expansive house that both screamed "We're loaded" from the rooftops and also allowed one to avoid one's spouse for days at a time. Unable to face John and fearful that something might slip, she used this fact to her advantage.

However, one night she wandered off through a portion of the house she didn't expect him to be, she heard a strange noise coming from the media room. It was quiet at first but she could hear grunts and moans coming from inside. It sounded like porn. Perhaps catching him masturbating might assuage her mind a little, she thought. Sure enough, as she approached she saw the back of his head in his chair, bobbing up and down.

The video on their giant LCD TV was a crude surveillance feed, complete with timecode and everything. At first it struck her like the fake "voyeur" porn on the Internet. It didn't look real at all. When she looked closer, however, she recognized something- her own face. A crowd of anonymous men stood around her naked body, using her like a common whore.

Suddenly the entire episode made a strange kind of sense. "You set all this up, didn't you?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

It occurred to her just how complicated that must have been. He would have had to arrange everything, from the car breaking down to hand-picking the men. For the first time in years, she felt genuinely touched. "I mean, was all of that for me?" she asked.

Again, he didn't answer. He simply smiled broadly and motioned for her to join her to watch the rest.

"They're expecting you again next week," he said with a grin. "You don't want to disappoint them, I hope."

OK, I have permission to share this but she doesn't want me to use her Lit name.

John's voice on the phone was cool and distant. "I'm sorry to hear that," he intoned. This was his go-to response whenever Carol brought him bad news. No matter the severity or circumstance, his response was nearly always the same- she had lost a diamond earring; the soufflé had fallen; their son had been kicked out of another private school. He was sorry to hear it.

It was as if he had spent years training himself to say it without thinking, a kind of muscle memory that allowed him to elicit the minimal amount of required sympathy but still leave his mind free to think about something else at the same time.

But that was John, always there but never there.

While his reply was not surprising to Carol in any way, she had hoped that this situation warranted a bit of genuine concern or even, though she knew it was too much to ask, some genuine concern for the woman who was, after all, his wife of more than three decades.

The long grey Mercedes lay at the side of the nameless highway, smoke billowing from under her hood. The weak light of the winter sun was fading fast, and before too long she would be very cold and very lost.

The obvious concern she had for her safety didn't seem to concern him at the moment. This was the evening of the big year-end gala for John's firm, after all, and she was already an hour late meeting him there. His tone implied that he was waiting for an apology from her.

"On any other night, I would gladly slide by to pick you up," he began cautiously. "But I couldn't possibly leave until after Roger's speech. You know that."

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"People are taking their seats, Carol," he said. His voice sounded as though had covered his mouth with his hand so no one could lip-read his desperation. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

"John, do you even-"

"Carol, I have to go. Call our service. They'll have somebody out there in twenty minutes."

She tried to interrupt, to tell him that she already had called the service and the wait time was more like three hours or more due to a convention or some such bother downtown. She got half a sentence out before she realized that he had already hung up. She paged through her contacts looking for someone else she might be able to rely upon to rescue her tonight, but the battery indicator fluttered a few times
like a ham actor at the end of a Shakespeare play and, like her car, suddenly died.

At this moment, as if some karmic comedian in the heavens decided this would be a good time to start snowing, she felt a flake or two fall on her eyelashes. Reaching up to her hair, a few more melted on her hand. She wondered for a moment what the white flakes looked like atop her auburn hair with that recently acquired shock of grey. John liked to refer to it as her "racing stripe." Though he hadn't really intended to make her self-conscious about it, talking about her like a car did make her feel strangely about getting older. Was she a classic whose value only increased with each passing year or was she a rapidly depreciating model soon to be replaced with a newer, shinier one?

She shook her head to rid her mind of the idea. She buttoned her long black woolen coat, tightened her lips in concentration, and took stock of her predicament. With a flick of her key-fob she locked her wounded beast and turned to the nearest source of light.

From this distance (a mile? three miles?) it was impossible to tell whether she had pinned her hopes for salvation on a humble rest stop, a gas station, or some roadside murder factory where cult members grind up passers by and sell them at a nearby diner. She paused for a moment to listen intently but could hear no screams of abject horror coming from the glow ahead. This she interpreted as a sign of good fortune.

The snow was coming down harder now, and she could feel the flakes embedding into the flesh on the back of her slender neck and melting there. She wasn't really dressed for the occasion. And yet there she was, trudging along the shoulder of a busy highway at night in a pair of heels that were never intended to walk in for more than a few yards.

They had been John's favorite during the early years when he pretended to notice this sort of thing. They were made of a flesh tone patent leather with a curved heel and pointy toe that had been popular years ago but had only recently become fashionable again.

She wondered, as she tried not to sprain her ankles on the uneven ground, whether she wore them to remind him of how he used to feel about her or to remind herself of how she used to feel.

None of it mattered now, of course, but dwelling on this seemed like a good idea when her only other option was to think about the cold, the embarrassment, and the painful death that awaited her if one of those hulking trucks passed just a few inches closer.

After what seemed like an hour or more, she found herself in the center of the dome of light on the highway. She looked up at the giant illuminated sign. TranspoUSA Truck Plaza.

In the haze of snow the outline of the facility looked more like a row of shacks, a series of small buildings stuck together like a mobile home with dozens of additions and extensions. Clearly, she thought to herself, fate had delivered her to the murder factory.

But she couldn't stand out there in the cold indefinitely, and there didn't seem like another workable option for her. At the very least, she'd have to wait there for the car service to find her in a few hours or, more likely, in the morning.

As she pushed through the smeary glass doors, the rush of warm air made her woozy for a moment. Thanks to a thick layer of condensation on her glasses, she could barely see.

To the handful of men standing around the counter chatting, she must have looked like a character from a bad fish-out-of-water movie as she carefully peeled off her coat and folded it over her arm. Underneath, she had on the sleek black evening gown she had selected for the gala. So much for fitting in.

Unsure what to do next, she sought out the ladies room. She reached to the nearest wall to switch on the lights and, to add one more layer of horror to her evening, she found that they did not work. From the smell wafting up from the stalls, it seemed like janitorial neglect might be at play here- probably due to the ratio of women to men at an establishment such as this, she assumed.

She spun around and, when she was reasonably sure the other truck stop denizens were no longer watching her, she quickly snuck through the door to the men's room and sought out a stall. Certainly, this was not much cleaner, but at least it had light.

Hanging her coat on the peg, she spread toilet paper over the toilet lid and carefully took a seat.

After sitting there for some time listening to the chatter outside, it occurred to her that she didn't even need to use the bathroom after all. She just wanted a place to hide, to regroup. Through the crack in the stall door she could see a hint of herself int he long dingy mirror. Her hair was a mess. The long curvy curls she had spent so long creating had fallen flat against her face. She decided not to strain to see any more. Too depressing.

It had been years, maybe decades, since she had surreptitiously used a men's room. There was a certain thrill to it. For what she could tell, she was alone, but she imagined men sitting in the adjacent stalls or at the urinals with their penises in their rough hands. She smiled slightly thinking about what they might say if they found her here, the strangely dressed lady hiding where she shouldn't be. She thought about what they might do, and the notion sent a pleasant shock through her body.

This is when she noticed it, a three inch wide hole in the side of her stall. The rough metal edges of it were covered in silver tape. She had heard about these things but never believed it could be real. It had to be a joke.

The door opened. She lifted her feet slightly so her womanly feet would not give her away.

She listened intently as the stranger opened the door to the stall next to her. She could see just a hint of his body as he unzipped his stained jeans, pulled out his cock and began pissing in the toilet. The sound of it filled the room. She wondered if he could see enough of her to realize she didn't belong.

She heard the mystery man flush. Good, she thought. She closed her eyes and counted the seconds until he left her alone.

But after some time she realized that she hadn't heard the sounds she expected- the zipping up, the stall door, his exit. She carefully opened her eyes. Through the hole in the stall she noticed something coming through the hole, a man's penis.

Mortified, she tried to think of an escape plan. If she was quiet, she might be able to leave, she thought. Once outside, though, what would she do about the phalanx of truckers waiting for her there? And even if she got away from them, what then?

It was thicker than John's, veiny and uncircumcised. She tried not to think about the slab of man flesh that hung before her, but she couldn't deny the odd attraction she felt. It seemed strong, powerful.

Against all intuition, she reached out one manicured finger and touched the tip. The skin reacted to her touch. With a bit more confidence she grasped the shaft and rubbed the head with her thumb. Through the hole in the stall she could see the balls tighten. She liked the direct reaction. She gently stroked the shaft and watched it grow in her hand. With the soft grunting on the other side cheering her on, she became more brazen and rougher with the stranger's cock in her hands. He seemed to like that very much. She noticed his hands gripping tightly to the top of the stall.

Her mind raced. The danger of the situation soon became crowded out by a rush of emotions. Looking at the head of his cock pulsating in her hand, she became overwhelmed with the need to make him cum. She opened her mouth wide and let her hot breath fall on the shaft. She heard a moan of appreciation in response. The idea of kissing the head intrigued her. She leaned forward and puckered her lips but the urge to have him in her mouth took over. She parted her lips and took him in as best she could. She could only manage a few inches at first but after a while her jaw relaxed and her throat opened up. This is when the stranger in the other stall stopped trying to be quiet.

"Fuck!" he grunted.

In that moment she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror- just the edge of her shoulder as she pumped him with her mouth. There she was, the wife of the top lawyer in the city, in a men's room stall in her evening gown with a trucker's cock in her mouth. The thought of it caused her whole body to tingle. She could feel the warmth of her pussy wafting up from between her legs.

Both hands on his cock now, she pulled herself down onto his shaft completely. From the rhythm of his movements and the sound of his voice, she could tell he was close. She freed one hand and reached down under her skirt. Through her pantyhose and panties, she could feel how wet it was. She ripped a small hole in her nylons and peeled her panties to the side. Her clit was warm and erect. She rubbed her button urgently as she sucked.

Suddenly, the cock disappeared. The stall door swung open, and the man stood there for a moment, his throbbing cock in his hand. He stared at her masturbating and grinned. She opened her mouth and closed her eyes.

"Cum on my face," she said, her fingers buried in her pussy. "Treat me like a whore."

His fingers tangled in her hair, he pulled her down onto him and she nearly gagged. She would not stop.Her hands grabbed his balls and squeezed.

With a long exhale, the stranger exploded all over her face. She could feel the hot cum dripping down her cheeks and nose. She continued rubbing her clit, looking up at him with intense lust. She stood up and lifted her skirt.

"Come on," she said impatiently. "Give it to me!"

The restroom door opened slowly. In walked a giant of a man, greasy brown hair and a full, bushy beard.
His arms were round and muscular. To her, he looked like a bear. The lump of flesh in his jeans was unmistakable. Staring intensely at her, the bear stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

She arched an cum-drenched eyebrow and emerged from the stall. Her first suitor stood back to let his friend through, still rubbing his cock excitedly.

"Who's got a cock hard enough to fuck me?" she asked. The words seemed to be forming themselves. Part of her was horrified at what she was saying and doing, but she couldn't stop now. She was a woman possessed.

The bear backed her up against a closed stall door and jammed a pair of fingers in her wet pussy. Her eyes closed involuntarily.

The bear smiled and pumped his fingers in and out of her while her hips quivered. "What brings a nice lady like you all the way out here?"

"Cock," she said playfully. "Can I have yours?" She placed her hand outside his jeans and squeezed the bulge hard.

He unzipped and let his semi-erect penis flop out of his jeans. She grabbed the shaft greedily and stroked.
It gets even bigger, she thought, and its going to be inside me. He led her over to the grimy sink and propped her up on the cold porcelain, her skirt up around her waist. She spread her legs wide, her shoes dangling in the air. He penetrated her without pretense or warning. His hands wrapped around her back and pulled her closer. He grunted like an animal as he fucked her. She reached around him and grabbed two handfuls of his ass and squeezed.

Over his shoulder she could see the first stranger watching them. Watching him masturbate drove her wild. The bear soon shot a hot, forceful load inside her pussy and soon she could feel the waves of orgasm beginning to build.

"Don't stop," she urged. She pulled him closer as her body convulsed. "Don't stop."

She walked over to the first stranger as the bear wiped his cock clean. He rubbed her clit slowly as the orgasm sustained a bit longer. "Need more," she groaned.

The door opened again. There were five of them in total now, each of them with a murderous look in their eye and a hard cock in their hands. She wanted them all, and by God tonight she was going to have them.

Soon she was on all fours on the floor. She could feel her palms sticking to the floor. A little disgusted, she was grateful at least that the melange of dried piss and cum will give her more grip.

One of the new men pulled up behind her and jammed his cock into her from behind. Meanwhile, a pair of fresh cocks dangled in front of her wanton mouth. She reached out for them with her cum-covered mouth. These two were quick, and soon she had them right on the cusp. With her mouth wide, she put both in her mouth at the same time and urged them to cum for her. Warm load filled her mouth and dripped down her chin. She swallowed what she could.

Meanwhile, her first two lovers were jacking off over her body and sprayed semen down her back as the cock in her pussy kept on going. His hands dug into her hips as she pushed harder against him. He pulled out suddenly and began rubbing his balls against the skirt of her dress. Soon, he shot his load so hard that it landed on the back of her neck. The semen, her reward, dripped back down to mix with the rest.

Her dress was clearly ruined by this point. The imported fabric was now stained beyond repair, and several seams had pulled out and torn in all the activity.

"Get me out of this," she moaned.

Bear produced a long hunting knife and grinned. "Glad to oblige, ma'am." Playfully he cut a long slit up her skirt to fully expose her pussy. The ripping sound was intoxicating. The bear prepared to cut away the bodice of the dress and rested the knife against her belly for a moment so she could feel the cold metal against her skin. The danger of it made her pussy ache. Soon she was free of the cum-strewn frock and stood in the midst of them wearing nothing but a pair of shoes.

"I'm not done with you," she said to the man who had been fucking her from behind. He laid down on the floor, and she slowly slid herself down onto him.

Her eyes closed in ecstasy and reached out for a pair of cocks to stroke.

All of it became too much at some point. Overwhelmed with lust, Carol came again, so hard that she seemed to black out for a while.

Some time later, she woke up on the floor, naked and sticky with cum.

She found a pair of dirty jeans left there for her, along with a stained white T-shirt and a scattering of five and ten dollar bills. They had paid for it, and somehow that made it even more satisfying.

****

Weeks later, Carol was in a haze, unable to forget about that night or forgive herself for the terrible betrayal it represented. She wanted to relive it all in her mind and fantasize about the hidden power she possessed, but the guild would not allow her.

Being the sort of couple they are, Carol and John lived in the sort of conspicuously expansive house that both screamed "We're loaded" from the rooftops and also allowed one to avoid one's spouse for days at a time. Unable to face John and fearful that something might slip, she used this fact to her advantage.

However, one night she wandered off through a portion of the house she didn't expect him to be, she heard a strange noise coming from the media room. It was quiet at first but she could hear grunts and moans coming from inside. It sounded like porn. Perhaps catching him masturbating might assuage her mind a little, she thought. Sure enough, as she approached she saw the back of his head in his chair, bobbing up and down.

The video on their giant LCD TV was a crude surveillance feed, complete with timecode and everything. At first it struck her like the fake "voyeur" porn on the Internet. It didn't look real at all. When she looked closer, however, she recognized something- her own face. A crowd of anonymous men stood around her naked body, using her like a common whore.

Suddenly the entire episode made a strange kind of sense. "You set all this up, didn't you?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

It occurred to her just how complicated that must have been. He would have had to arrange everything, from the car breaking down to hand-picking the men. For the first time in years, she felt genuinely touched. "I mean, was all of that for me?" she asked.

Again, he didn't answer. He simply smiled broadly and motioned for her to join her to watch the rest.

"They're expecting you again next week," he said with a grin. "You don't want to disappoint them, I hope."

Mmm Mr Ripley, hope you don't mind that I dropped by? Saw the light on, thought I'd just take a seat and amuse myself until you returned.

MsMoon

__________________There are nights when the wolves are silent and it is the moon which howls. George Carling.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Floggers and spankings excite me!

Tell me again, the story of how the Sun so loved the Moon, He died every night just so she could breathe.

shhhh

There is silence within a scream
That precise moment where He takes your breath away with the weight of His hand upon your skin.
The poignancy of pains' great pleasure as it fills your body,
robs your mind of conscious thought,
and fates you to crave more and more.
Purity Test...34.22I